Raid on Skullcap Mountain Part 2: Cakewalk
The ground grows muddier and increasingly difficult to tread as they advance, with each step sinking deeper into the mud. Ankle-deep, the officers trudge on, driven by the misguided confidence and understanding that they outnumber the enemy. If the smoke from earlier was caused by anything more than just a handful of people, they'd have felt a full on attack by now, but no such assault was evident. Though the deduction that they were only dealing with a few intruders was correct, their instinct to so borishly pursue them was questionable. The task of walking shifts from annoying to laborious as their steps begin to sink further into the softer mud, now reaching the level of their shins. The edges of the their greaves effectively scrape and scoop up mud, adding resistance against any movement. Furthermore, forcefully plucking out one's leg would inadvertently drive the opposite leg deeper into the mud. Most officers fix their gaze towards their footing which has become quite the ordeal in itself. One helmed officer in the frontline manages to mind his footing while still keeping an eye out for possible hostiles in his quadrant. His view is slightly obscured by strands of blonde hair caught in the wind from the unhelmed officer who's managed to march ahead of the rest of the frontline. The helmed officer bitterly surmises that it's perhaps the lack of a helm weighing him down that's responsible for this long haired officer's lead. A ridiculous notion if all their helms were made of mithril. Out from the corner, a figure drifts into view. The helmed officer being the left most flank of the frontline is the first to take notice. Roughly 30 feet away walking on solid ground, the figure is that of a man with his fingers interlaced, palms facing up, and arms reaching skyward, stretching. The man walks a few paces before turning on a heel, and disappearing back around the corner. The oddity of the sight caught the helmed officer and a few others by surprise. No one says a thing, but continue to struggle through the soft mud instead. Some now moving with a bit more urgency. Two to three strides later, the man drifts back into view from around the corner, now roughly 20 feet away, stretching a different part of his body. Again walking a couple of paces before turning and disappearing back around the corner. At a closer distance more of the officers take notice. The nonchalant disposition of the man suggests either his ignorance or indifference to the presence of their advancing force, angering a few of the officers. A general wave of aggression spreads amongst them. The new effort to hurry through the difficult terrain advances them only a short distance, but effectively sinks them thigh deep into the mud, immobilizing any further advance. Everyone including the helmed officer is focused on just freeing their legs from the tight hold of the brown thick wet earth. Krunk! A sudden loud sound of crumpling metal is followed by the long-haired officer's body being thrown back violently, slamming hard against the mud with a splat. The long haired officer lay motionless, legs still deeply rooted in the mud, hair and arms splayed out. Remnants of the sound that still hung in the air together with the sight of a caved-in chest piece suggests that his armor recieved the bulk of the mystery impact, but the crimson curtain that flows over the lower half of the officer's face, rendering most features indiscernable says that the damage dealt wasn't exclusively against metal. While the surrounding witnesses stand frozen in place, horror struck at the fate of their companion, the helmed officer instinctively shifts his eyes upfront, looking for the source of the attack. "We're sitting ducks." he thinks to himself, realizing the gravity of the threat. He spots the man from earlier, in a stance suggestive of having just thrown something. "He did this with a throw?!" the helmed officer's thoughts are that of amazement and disbelief. With the sound of crumpling metal still resonating in his mind coupled with the growing panic from the other officers, he finds his own sense of dread rising in his chest. The man turns his head towards the helmed officer. Their eyes meet. "Not good." The man straightens up, cracks his neck, and rolls his shoulder, while keeping his eyes still locked with the officer's. From his movements the helmed officer recognizes the man to be winding up. It was visual cue enough. The officer immediately drops low. The right side of his face just inches from the cool mud while the left side is suddenly brushed by the fierce air trailing the object that just missed him. "Too close." He hears distant words spoken. "Mewmew." The officer doesn't see the wind up, but turns his head in time to see an object hurling towards him, quickly growing before his eyes, followed by complete blackness. 08/31/2019 9:01 PM